Want, Take, Have
by adi-rotynd
Summary: Five times Karofsky wants Kurt, and one time he takes what he wants. For a prompt.


**Spoilers:** Up to 2.06.  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> Sexual assault (the canon incident), homophobia, bullying.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> RIB and FOX own everything ever.

Enjoy, and by all means review should it strike your fancy, my best beloveds.~

* * *

><p>1.<p>

The Hummel Issue starts with the dude's freaky-ass clothes. Before he starts wearing them, he's just another loser who happens to be categorized as subtype gay because he's tiny and swishy and has a high voice. Dave occasionally shoves him around or throws a slushy in his face, but he does that to a lot of people, because that's what he and Azimio do. They're like the cops of the school. Someone has to maintain order.

But freshman year wears on, and nothing works on Hummel. He doesn't shuffle away from the line, like people are supposed to, like people _do_. Hummel just gets worse about toeing it. Every day he comes to school looking a little more superior, a little more unconcerned with how things are supposed to be. Then he starts coming to school in clothes that look like costumes. Dave and Azimio crack down on him specifically, make him their mission. And the little fuck has to the nerve to up the ante, like they couldn't pound him into a smear on the pavement. The more they try to show him how things _work_, the less he seems to care. This is baffling and upsetting and eventually they stop concentrating on him so much because it's taking their attention away from other pressing concerns, like the theater nerds trying to recruit from the wrestling team.

Still, Dave keeps an eye on him. In case he goes too far with this girly shit. It's always Azimio who notices when he has, really, but Dave keeps looking, way more than Azimio. He starts keeping track of specific items of clothing, like the big black boots and the red sweater and the white shirt with the black doodles all over it. He doesn't bother with the pants, because mostly they're skinny jeans that pretty much look the same to him. Then there's that gray shirt he starts wearing early sophomore year. It looks soft and floaty, and it's longer on the sides than in the middle, and he likes to watch the way it moves when Hummel walks. And yeah, sometimes he watches Hummel's ass while he's at it, but the dude's pretty much a girl from behind anyway. It's just a quirk, watching Hummel's ass, like how when he watches porn, he has to look at the guys to finish himself off. Everyone has an embarrassing quirk when it comes to sex. He even knows Azimio's. He just hasn't shared his because he knows what it sounds like, even though it's not what it sounds like. He doesn't want to freak Azimio out. There's no need to make his best friend uncomfortable. He's just being sensitive to the needs of others, like Miss Pillsbury says they should be.

Then Hummel comes out. In Lima, Ohio. You don't come out in Lima. You don't say you're gay here. Even if everyone knows or assumes, you shut up because you have to live here, you have to see your parents and your friends every day and if they knew… But Hummel comes out, like it's no big deal, like he thought maybe no one had noticed and he was just getting them up to speed. No big deal, Dave thinks, over and over again. And the thing is, it almost isn't for most people, and he knows it's just because they think it's sort of funny Hummel felt the need to say it, like what, will he tell us he has brown hair next?

"Wow, breaking news," says Jameson.

Dave feels dizzy. No big deal. He can see himself walking up to Hummel and saying, just as brave and stupid, "Me too," and grabbing him and kissing him. He can see Hummel melting in his arms. He's decided Hummel's wearing that sweater that's basically a fuzzy white dress, the one that would give under his hands and feel like safety made solid against his neck when Hummel threw his arms around it.

Azimio makes a retching sound. "Little queer's on the football team," he says, shaking his head.

"That's it?" Dave stands up. "You guys can sit there and act like this is normal. I'm gonna find the freak and slushy his damn faggy clothes."

"My man Dave is right," Azimio agrees, standing up and clapping him on the shoulder. "We're resting on our laurels. It's time to step it up."

* * *

><p>A few days later, Dave slides into his seat in French, the class where the last half of the letters don't count. Hummel prances in just before the bell rings. He's wearing that shirt, the gray butterfly one. It's the first time he's seen it without something over it. His hair looks wet; he must have had to sacrifice some layers to a slushy. Dave smirks. Good.<p>

Or not good. The whole thing seriously floats around his body, like it could decide to fly away at any given moment, like it's just perching there for a while.

Hummel doesn't belong in this town. He's going to get out. He'll go to a big city and people won't make fun of him there, or throw drinks in his face or toss him in dumpsters or push him into walls. He'll get a boyfriend.

Hummel flounces into his seat, sort of twists his hips and manages to go from standing on one heel to sitting without involving the other leg. Dave swallows. The long parts of the shirt are pooled, clinging, along Hummel's hips. He wants to have his hands there. The suddenness and intensity of the desire is dizzying, the kind of desperate need that makes him forget why he can't have this.

He spends the rest of class staring and then trying not to. It's worse when they leave; Hummel is texting someone on his stupid fancy phone, so he's walking slowly, oblivious to everything but his most immediate surroundings. There's nothing to stop Dave following him.

The shirt looks better in motion. There's nothing to stop him touching it, either. He could run the trailing bits through his fingers, then settle his hands on Hummel's waist and just feel it. It's probably silk or some shit. It'd feel spectacular.

He looks down at his own jacket, red and yellow and safe.

It takes him until nearly the end of the day, but he gives Hummel a slushy facial. Azimio is disappointed because almost none of it gets on Hummel's face. Dave says he needs to work on his aim. And hey, at least that fruity shirt got ruined, right? Azimio nods and high-fives him. He's fine. Everything's fine.

* * *

><p>2.<p>

The problem with Hummel's clothing – aside from how _distracting _it is – is that it's on Hummel's body. Hummel's really girly, and Dave is a guy. He has needs, he has thought patterns. It's habit to think someone's hot if you spend enough time checking them out, and he just happens to be looking at Hummel a lot because of the clothes.

One of their vocabulary words in English this week is _supple_. It's the only one Dave remembers. He can't see it without thinking of Hummel, and he can't see Hummel without thinking of the word. He had a dream last night about that "Four Minutes" assembly. He was singing Jones' part with Hummel, who did that sexy ridiculous dance all up against him, smiling and confident. The whole school cheered for them and Hummel did that kick he'd done on TV, and Dave thought, _He can seriously get his foot above his head,_ and then the dream took a different turn. Since then, he's had the word on his mind all day. It's there through breakfast with his mom and dad and younger sister, getting ready for school, the drive over, first period. It feels like Hummel's following him around inside his head. So he returns the favor.

Hummel's unbelievable today. It's like he knows Dave likes seeing the white shirt with the doodles on it and is wearing it under that strappy gray thing on purpose, so only the collar of the cool one is visible. But the gray's nice with his skin, with how pale it is. And he's wearing a skirt over black pants – a skirt. Dave's entire brain grinds to a halt.

He goes to class.

He spends history with his heaviest textbook in his lap. A skirt. A skirt is definitely not an okay thing for a boy to wear. But someone who's wearing a skirt, that's someone whose body you can think about. And damn, the ass under that skirt. That's an okay thing. In parts, there's nothing wrong with thinking about Hummel. Legs are just legs; his are slender and strong and aren't long but look it. Dave would run his hands up them –

And arms are just arms. Hummel's are tender and, on the rare occasions he wears short sleeves, white. His Cheerios uniform showed that off. It made his customary pose, one arm across his stomach to balance the opposite elbow, unbearable. Being able to see his arms is worse even than touching them through sleeves when Dave throws him in a dumpster. He knows, from those moments, that they're are small and soft, but when he can see them too, how white they are, he just wants… And hands. Hands are just hands. Hummel's are narrow and soft, with sharp fingers. He can see the tendons and veins in them. Like his arms, they're… delicate, that's the word, and Dave wants to hold them.

Eyes are just eyes. Hummel's are like glass, a pale, reflective blue that sometimes looks green. His mouth is wide and his lips are pink; they look sweet, like they'd be even softer than his skin. His complexion is like cream, like those porcelain dolls his grandmother keeps behind locked glass doors. His hair is thick and brown and it looks soft and silky, and even though it's probably shellacked in place with all of the hair spray he uses, Dave doesn't mind, he just wants to touch it. His nose is Dave's favorite, though. The rest of his face is absolutely perfect; his nose is a little too long and it's adorable and Dave would kiss the tip of it and Kurt – Hummel – would giggle and –

But the thing about all of this is that any one bit of it could be a girl. As long as he's thinking in slices, it's fine.

It's just that he doesn't, always. It's hard to think about just Hummel's legs. It's sexy that they're Hummel's legs, that he's so much taller this year, almost level with Dave. How all of him together would feel if Dave could just hold him.

On his way to lunch he passes the hallway that leads to the choir room; it's almost deserted, but among the few stragglers are Hummel and Cheerio Brittany. Brittany has an arm through his. Thoughtlessly, Dave turns and follows them, keeping his distance.

"I like your skirt," Brittany says.

Hummel turns his head to smile at her. The way he does it, kind of a toss, makes Dave swallow hard. "You're welcome to borrow it if you ever want to wear something other than your uniform. It's technically a men's skirt, but I think you could rock it."

"No, I really like it on you," Brittany says. "I'll show you the best part of wearing skirts." She grabs his hand in one of hers, relieving him of his bag with the other. Hummel doesn't look really into it, but Brittany's almost as big as he is and definitely stronger; she doesn't even notice. She grabs his hand in one of hers, lifting it over his head, and pushes his opposite shoulder, setting him spinning like a ballerina. On her tiptoes, she's plenty tall enough, even with Hummel's growth spurt, to keep him twirling. His skirt flares around his hips. He starts laughing, cheeks bright red, and Brittany catches him. "Totally awesome," she announces.

"You're not wrong." He smiles widely, eyes sparkling. Dave realizes he's never seen him like this from so close. Not happy, and not… dancing. It's crippling to watch.

"I think if you do it fast enough, you fly," Brittany says. "I had a doll like that when I was little."

Hummel shakes his head at this, and catches sight of Dave. His face closes in, and he kind of puts an arm between Dave and Brittany. "Come on, Britt," he says.

"You fucking _girl_," Dave chokes out, and manages a smirk that gets easier with every second. "Are you serious with this, Hummel?" He gestures to the skirt. "What kind of pansy-ass hair gel mucked up your brain so much you thought you'd get away with that crap?"

"Do we really need to have this conversation again, Karofsky? And you worry about my brain. Look, once more, I can express myself with my clothes. There's nothing wrong with that. You express yourself by wearing a jacket which probably makes you visible from Mars, but also lets everyone around you know where you stand socially and how important that is to you. I express myself by wearing high-end, on-trend fashion. We're not that different, really." It's the smile that does it, the smile at the end. The condescending smirk on those pretty lips. We are different, it says, because I'm better than you.

Dave thinks in the back of his mind: _We're nothing alike_, and then that smile, and _But we are, we are exactly,_ and then he remembers he's on the hockey team and Hummel is a loser and a fag and _I'm the one who's better. Not you._

But mostly he's not thinking at all, because Hummel was just dancing. He doesn't think the word _supple_now; he doesn't need to. It's right here in front of him, close enough to touch.

One of them is a loser and a fag and getting out of this town in two years and it's not him, so he plants his hand on Hummel's chest. In the split second before he shoves, hard, his fingers snag on the straps of the gray shirt and he thinks how easy it would be to pull Hummel towards him. Then Hummel is on his back on the floor, coughing, trying to get his elbows under himself, and he looks so tired.

"Why are you mad?" Brittany asks, looking at him blankly.

He ignores her. He points at Hummel. "There's plenty more where that came from," he says. "You just keep wearing girl shit to school, see where it gets you." Hummel's legs are sprawled, the skirt riding up, and even though he's wearing pants too so it doesn't really show anything off, it's hard not to look. He should give him a hand and help him up, then wrap an arm around his waist – he'd feel so good, so right – and pull him close, have that body pressed against his, be able to touch it all over. All of it. Not slices. Kurt, all of Kurt.

"Why can't you just be normal," he adds as he strides off, "fucking freak."

* * *

><p>3.<p>

It's funny that this has never occurred to him before, but… Hummel came out. No, he knows that, he remembers, it's just… he knew Hummel came out to the school. To people. In general. He hadn't really thought about how Hummel had come out to people he likes. People he loves. Hummel's been out for almost a year now, and Dave just hadn't thought about it.

But he's at lunch one day and passing the loser glee table because sometimes he just feels like using the trash can in the back, okay, it's not that much farther from the jock tables than the one in front is, and if he says he forgot about that one people will believe him.

"Yes," Hummel says quietly, "I am peripherally aware of other gay students, and no, I am not going to name names. I would trust you with my life, Mercedes, but these aren't my lives. And I know how terrifying it is to consider coming out before you have, and the lengths that seem like they're worth it to stay in the closet. You may recall the fiasco of my having a pretend crush on Rachel Berry."

Jones laughs and punches his arm. Dave continues to the trash can and pretends the tray is caught between the mouth and the flap, tugging at it mindlessly.

"So do people just, like, talk to you?" Chang – the girl, not the football player – picks dubiously through a salad, trying to avoid the leaves that smell funky.

"No, not really. I mean, that makes it sound like more than it is. It's happened a few times. It can feel good to say it to someone, I guess, and I'm the only one at school that they can be reasonably sure will get it. I wouldn't know, since I never got that option in their position."

Jones takes his hand. "Well, thank God they've got you, then."

He smiles at her softly, affectionately. "They probably wouldn't if I hadn't told you first. I don't think I've ever thanked you for the single best possible reaction you could have had."

Dave looks at them from the corner of his eye, forgetting to pretend to be working on the tray. Hummel had looked his best friend in the eye and said "I'm gay," he realizes. He hadn't just said it over the school PA system or something, like a challenge to every student there. He'd had to say it to someone whose lack of friendship could make his life hell, to one person who could hurt him by even being shocked. He had to say it to her face.

Hummel is leaning on the table with one elbow. He's wearing that beige sweater with the lady's face on it over a white shirt whose sleeves are rolled up over the sweater's, but not high enough. Dave wants to go over there. He can see how it would happen. He would pull Hummel up from his chair and grab him by the arms and kiss him all over that perfect mouth, and he'd hold so tightly that he'd accidentally pull the sleeves up over Hummel's elbows. Hummel, too turned on to think straight, breathing heavily and pink-cheeked, wouldn't even notice. Dave would drop his hands to hold his now-bare elbows and say, "You're so brave, Kurt. You deserve a boyfriend as brave as you are." He would look at Azimio, who would now be standing right there, and say the words. Azimio would –

Dave shoves his tray into the trash can and walks away.

* * *

><p>4.<p>

This is where it stops being Occasionally Jerking off to Images of Someone Who Technically Has Hummel's Clothes and Body and, Recently, Hummel's Face and becomes the Hummel Issue. Dave thinks of it that way, in the same way his dad calls his older sister's fiancé "the Leon Problem." It sounds like a movie title. It sums everything up, but only if you already know it. Otherwise, it's meaningless. It doesn't say a damn thing on its own.

Now it's because Hummel's brave and has the kind of friends who accepted him, who would accept Dave, is apparently the kind of person you can go to with a secret and he'll listen and not tell anyone and make you feel like you're not disgusting for wanting something.

And now it's because of Hummel's voice, too.

There's nothing normal about Hummel, Dave is coming to realize. Nothing average. His voice is just as ridiculous as his clothes, who _has_a voice like that who's not a little girl, of course it gets him made fun of. And like his clothes, it's not actually as ridiculous when you spend a little time thinking about it and dreaming about it. It's actually really fucking sexy. Dave mostly only hears it when it's up an octave and strained from fear, or dropping to a guttural snarl when he gets fed up enough to yell even though he knows better, knows there's a goddamn system Dave has to keep in place. One he keeps in place with his best friend, Azimio, and if Azimio knew, oh God…

But. But it's sexy even like that, afraid or angry, and when he eavesdrops, when it's normal, it's like magic, and that's not even when he's singing.

He bribes Lauren from the wrestling team and AV club to get him a copy of the glee things that they record from time to time, mentions it's for a prank. She's a professional, she won't ask questions, and anyway he's hooked up with Brittany a few times so why shouldn't he take an interest, just because they're losers doesn't mean they're all totally beneath his notice. She won't tell the wheelchair kid, even. He makes sure. She gets it. God he hopes she gets it. What if she tells.

For now, though, he has a copy of some random pop songs, mostly being belted by the midget that Hudson's dating now. She has a pretty voice. He likes it. Is that fruity? Probably. It's probably even fruitier than the fact that he likes it but it doesn't make his palms sweat like Kurt's does. Hummel's. Like Hummel's does. He plans on listening to the CD once and then destroying it, throwing it out of his car or something. He goes driving, drives for an hour straight away from Lima, before pushing play. The plan is still in place until they do that Madonna number that Azimio swears is about giving head, even though it sounds religious to Dave, and Hummel sings, "I have no choice, I hear your voice. Feels like flying."

Dave pulls over and is not in love with a boy and is not crying.

The next time he sees Hummel, all he can think about is the Madonna song and the "Toxic" show. Hummel's nattering away a mile a minute at Jones, talking about someone named Alexander McQueen. (Ha ha, thinks Dave.) His voice is nails on a chalkboard to Dave's nerves, but every other part of him just wants to listen because it's so beautiful. How did he not notice that before, that it's soft and breathy when Hummel's excited, that it's hypnotic how many notes he can hit as his mood changes, that everything about it is musical. Like it's part of this better world Hummel's living in, where things are pretty and coordinated and have a meaning and a function.

Dave wants to wrap his arms around him and do a hell of a lot more than kiss, because in his imagination Hummel would be totally down with shoving Dave into a bathroom stall, locking the door, and going at it. He wants to move into Hummel's world, to have Hummel talk to him like that, sweet and smiling and melodic.

He walks up behind Hummel and shoves him into a locker instead, because he can, because no one will stop him or even help Hummel up because there is a system. Hummel can try and live outside it all he wants. Dave can't afford to.

* * *

><p>5.<p>

This is the last straw: Hummel's smart, and he's funny, and Dave, like a total girl, cares. Dave starts looking words up when Hummel uses them (and when Dave can remember them long enough to write them down in his notebook and feed them into Google later; Google inevitably wants to know if he really meant to spell it that way), and piecing together the insults, and they are. They're funny. He just wishes they weren't aimed at him. They're from another world, a better place, aimed down at stupid jocks Hummel wouldn't give the time of day to if they weren't stronger and meaner than he is. And Dave is one of those jocks.

It was one thing to want to bone Hummel with frequent unacknowledged daydreams of being his boyfriend, and another to want Hummel as his boyfriend with a side of boning. But his fantasies take an abrupt, uncontrollable turn. He can still get off to the image of Hummel stretched out on his bed, undoing the crazy amount of buttons on one of his shirts, but it's a thousand times better if he spends fifteen minutes leading up to it with them cuddling on the couch. Kurt would sit with his legs draped over Dave's lap, or sometimes curled up next to him with his head on Dave's shoulder. Both of his hands would be around one of Dave's, fingers threaded through his. And they would talk. Kurt would speak French to him and giggle, crinkling that adorable nose, at Dave's pronunciation when he tried it back. But Dave would understand him and use the right words, anyway. He'd know what to say to keep Kurt – Hummel – entertained. They wouldn't even turn on the TV. Hummel would make the kind of jokes he did with his friends, about music and clothes, and Dave would get them. He'd tell Hummel about hockey practice – Hummel wouldn't need to hear about the games, to which he would come loyally – and make them out to be epic battles like in that weird _Bay o' Wolf_ shit they'd read in English and Hummel would laugh out loud. He'd mock Dave gently but be impressed. They'd make out for hours, slow and gentle, and he'd make sweet, breathy little sounds under Dave's hands and lips.

Azimio would _hate_ him, be disgusted. Why not, Dave thinks miserably. It's disgusting.

He feels like he's going crazy. He can't see Hummel without thinking, somewhere inside, that there would be nothing wrong with dragging him into an empty classroom and picking him up, that Hummel would wrap those legs around his waist and kiss him back.

Hummel's _doing_ this to him. The gay porn is just because he's looking for some way to distract himself from Hummel. Looking at other guys in school, same thing. This is all Hummel's fault.

They have French today. Azimio is out sick. Dave isn't sure what possessed the teacher to pair them up randomly, isn't sure how out of twenty kids he could possibly have gotten Hummel as a partner, but somehow he's sitting there gaping and Hummel has reluctantly set his books and notebook on the desk of the redhead who usually sits next to Dave.

"Let's make this painless," Hummel says, scribbling something down on a piece of paper folded into his textbook. "I wrote out the correct answers to this exercise last night; I'm adding them phonetically underneath right now. Just read the parts in pencil, let me read my parts, and we'll be done in half the time it takes everyone else." He raises an eyebrow at Dave, who isn't taking the paper. "You do realize we have to get up in front of the class and do this?"

"How do I know you aren't making me say something stupid?"

Hummel raises his eyes skyward, mouthing something to himself. "You could try reading it?"

Dave looks at the paper. It's very tidy. "You spelled 'allez' wrong."

"Karofsky. It's in the imperfect. The conjugation is 'alliez' in the imperfect. This entire lesson is on the imperfect."

"Oh." He frowns. "So what's 'jardin public'?"

"Park, basically. It's just… public garden, really. That's how I remember it, anyway."

"'Cause jardin is just garden with a different letter at the front?"

"And an I instead of an E, yes. Read through it once and I'll correct your pronunciation, you could get out of this with a passing participation grade for once." Dave does, and Hummel takes him through it. After Dave reads a sentence, Hummel picks up with the last word and takes him through it backwards – last word, last word and penultimate, last word and penultimate and antepenultimate (Dave knows those words because of Hummel). Somehow the sentences are easier to remember that way.

Hummel's voice is soft and confident; his lips move slowly and invitingly. Halfway through the dialogue Dave is starting to get a boner. He stands up abruptly. "Got to go to the nurse," he grunts at the teacher. "I'm afraid I'll catch something off Hummel," and he spits "something" so Hummel knows what he means and leaves before the teacher can answer.

He stands in the bathroom and waits to stop thinking about how close he came to saying, "Embrasse moi."

* * *

><p>+ 1.<p>

The day he gives up is a bad one.

Hummel is special. Brave and smart and beautiful and talented. He's going to leave. Dave is going to live in Lima forever. He's going to get married and have kids and high school won't matter anymore to either of them – except that it will have been a pit stop in hell for Hummel and it will have been the best part of Dave's life. This, this is the best he's ever going to have it. Hummel's life is going to be better than his. Hummel is better –

No. That's what the system is for. Dave is better. Hummel's a bitchy little fag wearing a sweater he can swap with his goth girlfriend at a moment's notice. Dave is a hockey hero near the top of the food chain. So he has to lie and shove people around to stay there, so what? It's worth it. Hummel should know that by now, after two years and change. And still, somehow, he makes no sign of changing to fit in. Thinks he can just… not be part of the system, even if all that does is push him to the bottom of the heap by the rules of the same system he's trying to ignore. He thinks he can just walk and dress and act and love and _be _like the world is a place that won't hurt him for how he is; Dave knows that's not true. Dave knows faking it is worth it.

But Hummel's wearing the shirt with the doodles on it and that goddamn sweater, which for once doesn't obscure the shirt. His fingers are long and elegant on the strap of his bag. He stands up to Dave, snaps shit about a rendering plant, and Dave realizes after he's slammed him into a locker for the second time in as many minutes that after this one, he'd been so distracted he'd walked off in the wrong direction. He's late for class and feels like everyone knows why, knows he'd backtracked for another chance to touch the resident fairy and lost track of which direction he was going.

And then they're in the locker room, because Hummel had looked so pretty, happy and smiling at his phone – dreamy, the way he used to look at Hudson – and Dave can guess what that means. So he'd slapped it down and pushed Hummel into the lockers again, only this time Hummel chased him.

This is not how it was supposed to happen. And this is how it's happening.

Kurt is _right there_, being everything that Dave wants. He's brave and beautiful, with his crazy clothes and his unreal voice, spitting everything out as soon as he thinks it, and all of it boils down to this: _You can't have me._

Except, it occurs to Dave, he can. He's stronger. He knows he's stronger.

Kurt's cheeks are soft under his fingers. His lips are exactly what Dave imagined. For a few seconds, Dave is home. Right up until he realizes that as much as it's perfect and everything he wants and as good as it feels, and oh it feels good, it's not much of a kiss. Kurt's not kissing back. He stops – for a second he stops – but it feels awful, it feels even worse, to not be kissing him.

Hummel's shove does more to propel himself backwards than it does to move Dave anywhere. That doesn't matter. It gets his point across. It means Dave has to look at his expression.

If Dave could form a coherent thought, it would be, _Shit_. As it is, he slams his fist into a locker and storms out of the room. This is the problem with the Hummel Issue: Dave is bigger and stronger and he can take whatever he wants. Hummel will still look at him like that. Dave will still have nothing.


End file.
